Two Doctors
by robspace54
Summary: Doctor Ellingham gets to treat an unexpected visitor.
1. Chapter 1

Two Doctors

by robspace54

**Doc Martin is a production of Buffalo Pictures and Doctor Who is produced by British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC).**

**This chance meeting of these iconic characters is an accident of time and space, not likely to be seen on the small screen, but since the universe is vast and very old, who is to say?**

**The story below is strictly a product of my head and I lay no claim to any characters, settings, or plots.**

It was a sunny day in the small village. Cloudless blue skies held a contrail high overhead, and a few raucous seagulls flew about, but it was a peaceful day as far as Mother Nature was concerned.

Doctor Martin Ellingham stood by a bench on the headland overlooking the tiny village of Portwenn and he inhaled deeply and with great fatigue. He'd had a terrible day, which was par for the course in his GP practice. He'd been coughed and sneezed on, had managed to avoid a blob of projectile vomit by barely an inch, and had been peed on by a sick one year old. He'd also had to listen to useless whinging from patients who were both _not_ sick and those who _were_ sick. Those who were _not_ sick tended to _want_ medications, while those who _were_ sick did not want _any_ medicine. It all frustrating and baffling as well.

He blew air out of his lungs and stared across at the school, where he could make out the dark haired figure of Louisa Glasson leave Portwenn School. She walked past the Post Office store, then turned and walked from his sight on the way to her cottage.

He really _must_ figure out some way to deal with the woman. She was bright, good hearted, and a looker as well, yet no matter how much he wanted to really converse with her, things always happened to stop it. If it wasn't rude villagers butting in or barking dogs, there was a ringing mobile or a giant misunderstanding of some sort to break the moment.

So he stood there on the headland above the harbor, arms crossed, back straight and rigid, and tried to create a possible scenario in which he and Louisa could actually have an honest moment for a real talk. He knew such ruminations were likely a waste of time, but he tried anyway. In a few minutes Martin was ready to go back to his cottage, when he heard footsteps approach and a voice at his back.

"Hello!"

Martin turned to find a youngish man, with unruly dark hair and brown eyes, wearing a dark suit with a light pinstripe and a dark tie staring at him. Another odd Cornishman, obviously. But his accent seemed not Cornish as it had perhaps a bit of Welsh with some Suffolk thrown in, and a whole lot of other influences. Not a Cornishman, then, Martin realized.

"What do you want?" Martin growled, being in absolutely no mood for company.

"Mind the company?" asked the stranger.

"Yes," Martin added grumpily.

"Oh, well, I just thought…" the man smiled happily.

Martin curled his lip and stayed silent.

The stranger scanned the panorama with his eyes. "Quite a view, isn't it?"

Martin nodded _yes_.

"But you knew that," the man told him.

"Right."

"Well, perhaps we can share it?"

Martin looked askance at the man, who looked to be perhaps forty years old or so. He was close shaven and his face was aglow in the sunshine streaming down. "If we must," he grunted.

The stranger breathed deeply and laughed. "Smell that air! Wonderful! Quite a warm day, isn't it?" He tugged at his necktie and loosed the top button on his white shirt.

Martin curled his lip. "Yes. Obviously."

"You don't speak much do you?"

Martin turned towards the man. "What do you want?" he said in irritation.

"Nothing." The man chuckled. "Nothing at all. Well…" he looked down. "Perhaps just to enjoy the sunshine."

"It's been sunny the entire week! Where have you been? Antarctica?"

The visitor laughed. "No. Somewhere much colder, actually," he muttered. "But you don't care about that, do you? What is it that _you_ care about, anyway? I'd imagine nothing much happens in a village such as this. Where are we, anyway?'

"You don't know?" asked Martin Ellingham in disgust.

"Well… I travel a lot. Sometimes hard to keep track, you know?"

Martin bristled. "No. I don't!"

"My, my! You are a gloomy Gus, aren't you? Don't reckon you travel very much do you?"

"Do you mind?" yelled Martin. "I have had a very hard day and I only wanted some bloody peace and quiet! Don't want to have strangers questioning my motives or actions! Just sod off, would you?"

"Oh," replied the man. "Ever been to India, say?"

"No."

"Oh. North America, then?"

"Do you mind? Shut up! And this is Portwenn – in bloody Cornwall!"

"Oh." That quieted the young man. He poked around at the ground with a toe. "Sorry. I suppose you hear too much prattle - in your business, that is."

"How do you know my business?" asked Martin warily.

"Oh… you know," the man smiled saying this and tipped his head from side to side and pursed his lips. "People talk."

Martin groaned. "I can only imagine. Just what have the benighted and socially backward denizens of this biscuit-tin town been saying about me this time?"

"Noth… nothing. Just relax," said the man as he saw Martin ball his fists in anger. The man held up his hands to ward Martin away.

"Well?"

"I heard some say that you were a right good doc." The man stopped and twisted his head about, then dropped his voice. "You know. Always up on the latest medical papers and so forth?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. What do you want, anyway? Who are you?"

"No one. Not an important person," said the man.

"Got a name? I'm Doctor Ellingham."

The man gave a giggle. "Some just call me the Doctor."

"Erhm. Doctor of what?"

"Oh… a lot and a little, I suppose." The stranger smiled and stuck out his hand. "Just call me Doctor Smith, I guess. Pleased to meet you."

They shook hands and Martin twisted his face into an angry look. "So why are you wasting my time?" he asked.

"Oh, I have a sick friend. She's been poorly lately. We just… er… stopped by for an ice cream and she mentioned she's not been feeling well. Since our last, uhm… trip."

"Well, bring her by my surgery on Monday, unless it's an emergency."

"Well," the man dug a toe into the turf again. "She's not able to move her arm very well. A matter of fact, I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd be able to… take a little time… right now?"

"If she's ill, then have her seen to!"

"That's what I'm trying to do Doctor Ellingham. Trying to! So if you could…"

Martin sighed. "Oh, very well." He sighed once more. Typical Portwenn day – being bothered at every odd moment. Never a moment's rest and he'd just decided to try and intercept Louisa. "So where is the patient?"

The man frowned. "Where is your surgery?"

"Oh, for God's sake. It's right down the lane there!" Martin flung out a finger like a lance. "Brick cottage; on the right as you travel down. The sign says SURGERY on it!"

The Doctor made a concerned expression at Martin. "Has any one told that when you yell like that there's a vein in your neck that gets all squished up! Bulges a bit. Right about there…" He pointed to Martin's neck above the clavicle. "Most likely not a good thing for your blood pressure!"

Martin took a deep breath as he struggled to control himself. "Do you… think… you can get your lady friend… to my surgery?" Between gritted teeth he grunted out words haltingly, just one second away from striking the man.

The strange man backed up a step. "Yes, I _can_ do that. On the right you say?"

Martin nodded and took a step away. "I'll give you ten minutes to get her there, as surgery _is_ actually closed." Then he stalked away.

The peculiar man stood his ground watching Martin Ellingham stride away and he smiled. "Right," he added than walked back across the headland whistling an off-key tune.

000

Martin stomped back to his surgery, unlocked the door and rushed inside, feeling quite put upon. He looked around the ancient consulting room hating the putrid green walls, the low ceiling and the leaky windows with cracked glazing. He took a careful breath, trying to center himself as much as possible and reign in his temper. "Martin, have a care!" he said aloud. He carefully sat at his desk, tugged his coat into proper alignment and then waited for his patient to show up.

He didn't have long to wait as he heard a squeal of strange brakes, which sounded on his ear in an odd stutter. "What in God's name is that?" he shook his head as the noise seemed to go right through his head, then it faded away.

He rose and walked to the front door when the little man appeared supporting his friend, who was a red haired woman. She wore a leather coat over a gray top with a fuchsia camisole peeking out underneath. She wore gray trousers below a wide brown belt, dividing her generous frame. She stumbled inside as the man steadied her. The woman held her left hand outstretched stiffly below her ample bust. The hand was wrapped with silver cloth.

Martin looked down and now saw the man was wearing red and white trainers. He groaned. The man must be a mad local, and there were _so_ many. "Go thru," said Martin, pointing to his consulting room.

"This is Donna," said the man, after giving her an odd look.

"Is that wise?" mumbled the woman. "What if… he… looks up my name? You did say it might not be wise?"

Martin started. "Say what? What about your name? Don't you want to give your name?"

"Well, not that…" she said.

Smith cut her off in a brusque wave then fished a folder out his suit coat, flipped it open, and flashed it at Martin.

Martin could see the badge inside read 'Dr. John Smith – MI5.' He nodded. "I see… Security Service."

"Doctor Ellingham, may I call you Martin? That is all right isn't it? You don't mind?" asked Smith.

Martin looked sharply at the man, as he held out the folder for further inspection. The next line read 'Special Investigations.' Yes, but there was something about the way the Smith asked if he could call him by his first name. "I prefer Doctor Ellingham."

The man exchanged glances with the woman. "Right. Well… seems a bit formal, doesn't it?"

"Look, Doctor Smith!" Martin stiffened. "Are we going to bandy about with names and titles or can we get attending to your friend? Donna, is it?"

"Yes. Donna…" she looked at John Smith, who nodded at her.

"Alright, come inside then and let me look at your arm!" Martin waved her on.

"Ok." She held her arm out further from her body and grimaced. "It _is_ painful."

Martin practically had to push Donna and Smith into the consultingroom, where she sank down on the examination couch with an exhausted sigh.

Smith wandered about the room examining everything in sight, running a finger over most objects. "Nice," Smith said. "I really love what you've done with the place."

Martin ignored the man, until Smith touched the medicine Buddha on the shelf. "Don't touch that! It's valuable!"

Smith smiled, with his top teeth slightly protruding. "Right. You _are_ rude, just as…" Smith cleared his throat. "Sorry. I should let you get on… examining… _that_." He pointed at Donna's hand then went to examining a large clock laid out on a side table in partial disassembly.

"Don't touch that either!" Martin quit being distracted by Smith and turned to his putative patient. "You do have a name – front and back?"

She looked at Smith, who told her, "Go on."

"Noble. Donna Noble," said the woman.

Martin snapped on gloves and began to probe her fingers under the cloth. "I see. Mind telling me what's happened?"

The woman went pale as he touched it. "Oww! God! That hurts!" she yelled.

Martin ignored the outburst and partially unwrapped the bandage enough to touch her fingers which were ice cold. "Where have you been? Your fingers are like ice."

"Somewhere… cold?" she said.

"Alright." Martin wondered what was going on with these two. Must have had the air-conditioning quite high in their car. "Take the coat off please?"

Smith quit spinning about the room, looking at every inch, to help Donna off with her coat.

Martin wondered why anyone would be wearing a leather coat on such a day as today, with the temps in the low 80s. But that thought went straight into the bin, for as Donna's whole left arm was revealed to his medical gaze he saw that the back of her left hand was quite swollen, with a greenish tinge along with red streaks running towards the elbow. "Good God! What have you done to your arm?" He prodded the margins of the swelling as the woman winced and tried to pull her hand away.

"It was…" started the woman.

"A bite," finished Smith.

Martin looked closely and could see two puncture marks above the knuckles. "A bite?" The wounds looked fresh, yet swelling such as this was atypical in so short a time. "I can see that! A snake."

Smith smiled. "Yes a snake."

Martin grunted. "Never seen an adder bite out here at the coast."

Donna said, "It was a cobra!"

Just as Smith added "A rattlesnake!"

Martin turned his eyes from one to the other. "Cobra? Or a rattlesnake? In England? Are you mad?"

Smith tipped his head from side to side. "Well, it was _sort_ of a cobra."

"But it had a rattle on its tail!" wailed Donna. She glared at Smith. "You said it wouldn't bite me! But it did!" A small tear ran down her face.

Martin turned back to the injured hand. Now he saw the puncture wounds were three in number; each about one quarter of an inch wide, across an arc of a three inches. "What sort of snake was this?" he turned the hand over and saw only edema, other than a row of small punctures beneath. "No snake has three upper fangs!"

Smith turned a hard stare at Martin. "Not yet, they don't."

"What in God's name are you talking about? Are you mad?" shouted Martin.

"I _said_, not _yet_. That is they will, some day," added Smith.

"And when will that be?" asked Martin in the most sarcastic tone possible. He had no idea if this was a snake bite, but this pair was acting very strangely.

Donna Noble caught his eye. "In about ten thousand years, Doc."

Martin looked up at the woman in disbelief. "Oh?" He wondered if Joe Penhale might be useful handling these two if they got violent. He pulled out his mobile, just as Smith grabbed his arm before he could slide the phone open.

"Doctor Ellingham! Martin!" Smith yelled and his grip was like steel clamps. "Perhaps we need to explain a few things. For one thing, my name is not Smith, but you can call me _The_ Doctor. This _was_ a snake bite, and I need your excellent and skilled diagnostic knowledge to treat Donna."

Martin tried to pull his arm free but the way Smith, or whoever he was, spoke to him struck a distant chord of memory. "Have we met?" he asked.

The Doctor sighed. "Yes, about twenty years ago."

"I don't remember you," said Martin Ellingham. "I'm not that good with names, but your face…. I'd remember _that_ much."

The Doctor smiled kindly at the Portwenn GP. "Oh, but we _have_ met. But… _faces_ change… _people_ change." He released Martin's arm and clapped his hands once, then wrung them together. Now his narrow face broke into a huge smile. "Now, Martin, a long time ago… well, how to begin?"

Donna interrupted with a pleading look. "Why don't you do something for my hand, Doc, while The Doctor tells you a story?" She smiled at Martin so he did as he was told.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 – Unexpected

Martin examined the injured hand, not liking what he saw. The puncture wounds were closed with tight scabbing, with no seepage of body fluids. The fingers of Donna's hand were very icy as he had felt earlier, and the swelling on the hand almost looked more like a contusion, rather than any infection or edema from destruction of tissues. "Please flex your fingers."

Donna did as he asked. "Still hurts, though."

"Snake venom usually works to destroy muscle tissues, but I am amazed that you can move it so well."

Smith, or whatever his name was, stuck his nose down close. "Yes, odd, isn't it? I observed that myself, yet what do you make of the ease of mobility and the pain?"

Martin looked at the little man with scorn. "If you are so knowledgeable, why don't you treat her?"

"Ah! Good question! Right. Well…" Smith brushed the lapels of his coat. "Not quite my area of expertise, you might say." He then scratched the back of his neck and ran his hands over his face. "Normally I'd have hauled Donna off to a cat-nun, but for some reason I couldn't lock onto their beacon. Something is all wonky in the continuum. Almost like the timelines are scrambled. Couldn't even take her to Martha Jones. She's a consultant now, you know."

"Seems to me it's your brain that is scrambled," Martin muttered.

"Yes, you might think so, wouldn't you?" replied Donna. "I know this is incredible…"

"Incredible? No I'd not say that. I think that both of you are suffering some sort of psychotic episode. Have you both been taking illicit drugs? Or perhaps escaped from somewhere with high walls and locked doors?" Martin said. "More likely, a psychotropic drug – a hallucinatory?"

Smith smiled. "Yes, but never mind! Think what you will. Just treat her hand, if you please."

Martin grimaced. "What I'd like to do is shoot you both up with a little Thorazine."

Smith laughed. "Thorazine? Nah never touch the stuff. I'm afraid that one has no effect on me. But, if you'd try chloropentathiozolsulfate, with n-octane groups added, that might have some effect on me…" his voice fell. "But what a shame it won't be developed until 2257."

Donna nodded. "Yes, the Praxitis Tribe thought they had with that, didn't they?"

"Ha!" Smith laughed. "Still have a bit of hives from that second injection." He scratched his back. "Still itches too."

"You're both quite mad, aren't you?" replied Martin.

Donna cast a sad look at Martin. "Dr. Ellingham, look. I know this makes no sense whatsoever, but please consider that I am in need of medical treatment, regardless of whether or not you believe what either the Doctor or I say. Will you help me?"

"Of course." Martin considered this. "Hippocratic Oath."

The Doctor whirled about. "Hippocrates. Fine fellow. You know, Martin, I do think that there are many qualities that you exude that would make old Hippocrates proud. You're very well dressed - do you sleep in that suit by the way? And you certainly are quite serious, but I do wish you'd work on your manners a little. Hippo bade his students to be calm and kind, you know."

"I know the Hippocratic Oath, Smith, or whoever you are! So would you shush?" Martin was shouting now.

Smith recoiled. "Hm. I'm not certain that Hippo ever told one of his patients to shush. Although there was that one fellow – oh yes, Nebrus, that old rascal, had a habit of talking and talking." He grinned at Martin. "Rather like me. Rather put Hippo off."

Martin grunted and took his sphygmomanometer and employed it to take the woman's blood pressure. He took it three times, but it was nearly normal, just slightly elevated. Heart rate was normal as well. "Strange, given a venom dose, I'd have expected some level of cardiovascular collapse."

Next he took her temperature. "Slightly elevated." He put down the tympanic thermometer and rubbed his hands together. "What sort of prank is this? Other than the hand injury, you seem to be fine."

"Curious, isn't it," replied Smith. "Very. Reminds me of…" he stopped and smiled like an idiot. "But that doesn't matter does it? But there was that time…" he paused to scratch his neck and make a very strange yawn, "Peri got toxemia, well… so did I!" He finished with a laugh. "Then there was that time that Sarah Jane… oh, never mind."

"Whatever are you babbling about? You need an entire team of psychiatrists, don't you?" Once more Martin considered calling for help.

The Doctor looked long and hard at Martin Ellingham. "You really have no idea who I am, do you?"

"Yes, I do," said Martin. "You are an escaped…" he glanced quickly at Donna, who looked back with a hard stare. "Whatever."

Donna Noble took Martin's arm. "Dr. Ellingham, please? Can you quit going on about that? Just treat the injury, can't you?"

Martin thought of the irony of her comment. Louisa continued to remind him, no demanded, that he treat his patients as – _patients_ – not symptoms, syndromes, or conditions. His surgery years forced him to see only the tangled or abused arteries and veins under his hands and knife. His time in Portwenn gave him precious little time to practice those skills; in fact his haemophobia, mostly prevented it! Yet there were a few times that he could focus only on the medical condition, and not the living, breathing, _person_ under his bloody gloves. Now this perfect stranger was asking him to see only the injury, and the becoming young woman who stared at him with that level and constant gaze, unnerved him in some strange way. Then the thought of blood made a flush of nausea erupt.

"Problem, Doctor?" she asked, as she saw his face blanch and turn to white.

"Nothing." Martin moved back to look at the hand, gulping swiftly. "May I?" He pointed to the central region of the injury.

"Yes, please do." She looked across the room at the person who called himself Smith. "Don't mind him. He does go on at times."

The strange man stood across the room now, staring at the innards of the disassembled clock, tapping a fingernail against his teeth.

Martin lowered his voice. "Are you in danger? From him?"

Donna chuckled. "No. In fact he saved me."

"From what?"

"Any number of things. Too many to count." She sighed. "Not in danger just now – other than this." She held out her damaged hand.

Martin gently prodded the lump. "That hurts," he confirmed as she squirmed a little.

Donna blew out a shaky breath. "Yes."

Martin pushed more forcefully on the swollen back of the hand, and under his sensitive fingertips, honed by years of stitching tiny blood vessels together, felt a swift pulsation – almost a wiggle. "God!"

Donna screeched as she too felt the motion, _inside_ her hand. "There's something in there!" Her voice became a sort of choking whimper, as she shook her hand back and forth, clutching her injured wrist with the other hand.

The Doctor looked up from the clock. "Yes. I was afraid of that. Donna, I don't know how to say this… but I think… not quite certain… I mean, nah… yeah, must be?"

"Would you quit babbling on?" blurted out Martin. "He does this all the time?"

Donna interrupted her whimpering to nod violently with her eyes wide in terror.

The Doctor pulled a metal tube of some sort out his coat, examined it, and suddenly it glowed bright blue at the tip. He gestured it about over Donna's hand while it emitted a whirring noise.

"What the devil _is_ that?"

"Sonic," said the Doctor. He looked at the object. "Yes, this confirms it."

"Confirms what?" screeched Donna.

The Doctor wrinkled his nose then smiled hugely. "You're pregnant."

Donna Noble's eyes rolled back in her head and she fainted, falling straight back onto the exam couch, arms and legs flopping.

**Dr. Who Glossary (for those who are much more into Doc Martin, than Dr. Who):**

**Donna Noble – Played by Catherine Tate. Third Companion of the 10th Doctor.**

**10th Doctor – Played by David Tennant. Dressed in a pinstripe suit with red and white trainers (sneakers), usually.**

**Sarah Jane – Sarah Jane Smith (played by Elizabeth Sladen), a longtime companion to both 3rd (played by Jon Pertwee) and 4th (played by Tom Baker) Doctors. Character returned to the telly in 'The Sarah Jane Adventures,' a modern Dr. Who spin-off.**

**Peri – Perpugilliam Brown (played by Nicola Bryant) opposite the 5th Doctor (played by Peter Davidson) and the 6th Doctor (Colin Baker). Once poisoned in The Caves of Androzani, when the Doctor transforms into Doctor number 6.**

**Martha Jones – Played by Freema Agyeman. Second companion to Doctor number 10. She was a medical student and left to travel with the Doctor just before she was to take her qualifying exams.**

**Sonic – Sonic screwdriver. A generalized scanner and whatz-it whizbang tool.**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 – Operate

"Afraid that would happen! Donna's been through a lot lately but I think this is a first!" said the doctor in the pin-stripe suit.

Martin Ellingham took up a vial of smelling salts, opened it, and waved it under the woman's nose. She came around quickly and found Doctor Ellingham bending over her, looking intently at her eyes. "You fainted. Done that before?"

Donna Noble ran a shaky hand over her face. "No. Never." She tried to sit up but the GP pushed her head back down, placing a pillow under her neck.

"Stay." Martin took her blood pressure. "A bit low. You lie right there." He cranked up the end of the bed to elevate her feet and legs.

Doctor Smith, or whatever his name was, fiddled with the metallic thing in his hand and it emitted a low hum and a bright green glow. "Let me adjust the…"

Martin regarded his strange assistant. "You really are mad, aren't you?"

The man grinned at him hugely, his front teeth almost totally showing. "Depends on your viewpoint, now don't it. Ages ago, I might have been seen as a wizard, or a witch."

He twirled a knob on the thing he was holding and Martin craned his neck to see what he was doing. "What are you fiddling at with your laser pointer?"

Smith laughed. "Not a laser pointer, Martin. Well I could use it as that, but it tends to run the battery flat though. But as I was saying," he bent his head over the woman on the exam couch, "in another age I might be seen as a witch, or a god, or a rather backward and ancient man of some learning."

Martin turned his head at a sniffle and found Donna to be weeping, tears gushing down her cheeks.

When she saw the doctor looking at her, she blew up. "I'm lying here, sick as a dog, my arm all swollen up while you _two_ are bickering, back and forth like an old married couple. I can't be pregnant! I haven't had… uhm… been with a man… well…"

"Since when?" asked the GP. "Need to get a urine sample. A test will confirm it."

"Well," the woman sniffed. "Since before my wedding and that turned out soooo well!" she said sarcastically. "I hope that bastard Lance lived all the way until he hit bottom… Oh sorry."

"Donna's a little upset, you see…" said Smith.

Martin interrupted him. "You're not married then?" He hadn't seen a ring on her hand.

She looked up at him. "No! I'm not married. And there's no way I could be preggers!" I mean," she gave a long look at Smith. "We never."

"Nah," added Smith. "We're best mates, aren't we Donna?"

"Yeah, I suppose," she said oddly. "I'm not pregnant! No way! In spite of what your sonic says, Doctor, I'm not pregnant! How come it says I am?"

Smith looked at the object in his hand, and it was the largest and most elaborate laser pointer Martin had ever seen. "Ah, I see," Smith cried. "I've got the notch filter on. Donna! Sorry, old thing! Now if you were a Cytherian Horta or a Slythene Titanask, it would have been right." He pointed the thing at her again while it hummed and glowed.

"You two are _completely_ barmy, aren't you?" sighed Martin. "So what particular asylum did you escape from? And was your treatment through Home Care?" He crossed his arms, fuming about the waste of his time. He was once more reaching for the telephone when Smith rapped him across the knuckles.

"Half a tick, Doc! See?" He flashed the electronic thing in front of his eyes, where Martin saw a tiny screen crawling with strange markings. Smith pointed a slim finger at it. "Right there? See that beige line, where it intersects the… no, I suppose you'd not know what that means, would you?"

Martin harrumphed. "No," he said frostily.

"Donna!" shouted Smith, his narrow face showing all his teeth again. "You're not pregnant. Well, not most of you. Just your hand!"

"Her hand?" shouted Martin, as Donna looked up in astonishment.

"My hand?" Her stunned eyes flew one man to the other and back. "So you're sayin' that my hand… is PREGNANT! My bloody hand?"

"Yes," said Smith. "I don't think a urine test would work martin. You see by now the parasite will have attached itself to blood vessels…"

Donna screamed out, "Parasite?" and collapsed once more.

"Yeah, Doc," Smith went on, as Martin applied the smelling salts again to the stricken woman. "If you could operate and remove it? Should be straight forward for a former surgeon such as yourself! What do you say? Just a bit of snip – snip?"

Doctor Martin Ellingham felt himself break out in a cold sweat as his stomach roiled with nausea while Smith stood grinning at him over the examination couch.

**Author's notes:**

**In the "Runaway Bride" episode, of New Dr. Who Season 4, Donna Noble met the doctor for the first time on the eve of her wedding. She later found that her fiancé Lance was involved in an alien plot to destroy the Earth's peoples. Lancer did not survive the encounter nor did the aliens.**

**Cytherian and Slythene – presumable two alien races that Dr. Who encountered in his travels.**

**Horta – Just a bit of Star Trek cross over fun (Star Trek – The Original Series – "Devil in the Dark"). Look it up! ** :)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 – Relationships

"Operate?" Martin asked his voice quivering slightly.

Smith giggled. "Yes. You know how! You take a scalpel…"

"I know that! Damn it!" Martin wiped his face. "You want me to remove it."

"Yes. It _is_ a parasite. Like the sentient slugs of Monos Alpha or the reptilian blood leeches on, Donna, what's the name of that planet where the reptiles and the tortoises were having that civil war?"

Donna pursed her lips and thought for a few seconds. "Where the parasites were controlling the reptiles? That was Parthesia. Can't believe you'd forget that place. I still have the smell of sulfur mud in my nose!"

"Yes. I'd forgotten," said Smith. "Too many idle facts whirling about up here." He tapped his cranium. "Might be time for a selective deletion. Probably a few terabytes that could be downloaded."

Martin managed to keep his mouth shut as Donna and Smith babbled back and forth, apparently speaking the Queen's English, but with almost none of it making any sense to him.

Finally Smith realized that he was totally ignoring the good GP. "Sorry about that! We do go on at times. Well, I usually am the one doing the prattling on…" he paused. "Sorry. There I go again."

"Yes." Martin looked at the minor surgical instrument tray on his rollie cart. Through the clear polythene film he saw straight and bent forceps, a suture kit, two scalpels – both sealed in foil packets – and two probes, one straight, the other hooked, and a hemostat. He blew air from his nose.

"Ah," said Smith, peering over Martin's shoulder. "Surveying the implement kit? I suppose you'd not have a neodymium laser about would you? That might solve a number of issues."

Martin examined Donna's hand, probing the pulsing beneath the lump on left hand. With his surgeon's trained fingertips he could feel the woman's pulse and another - one much higher in rate - nearly triple that of the young woman. "There's a pulse."

"Of course I have a pulse!" shouted Donna in confusion. "What sort of doctor are you, anyway?"

"No. Not you. The lump. I can feel a pulse."

Smith raised his magic wand thingy and a light flashed once more. "Oh. I was afraid of that. It's growing, even as we speak."

"But you said it's a parasite! It's not a…" her eyes goggled. "A… you know… A baby."

Smith scratched his neck, followed by a neck popping maneuver. "Yes. I did say that. That is it's _not_ human."

Martin felt he was getting in far over his head. "You're saying that this thing is a disease."

"Might be. But it might not." Smith added. "I think this might change things. Be back in a minute!" he shouted. "I need something from the…"

Donna shouted. "No! Don't tell him anything about the…"

Smith smiled his odd smile. "Right. Our… transport. From the boot. Yeah! That's it!" He swept to the surgery door. "Be right back!" He rushed off and the front door of the cottage opened and closed swiftly.

"I do apologize, Doctor Ellingham. The Doctor does get excited at times," Donna said. "He does care about people, though, in his own way, especially humans and the Earth."

"So you'd call Smith a humanitarian - that it?" sneered Martin. "Sort of a tree hugger."

The woman nodded he head up and down. "Yes, that's it. He cares for us."

"Do you care for him?"

"No… yes! Not in that way! It's complicated!"

Martin grunted. Relationships _always_ are he thought to himself. "Does he abuse you? Are in danger? From him?"

"No," she said softly. "Not at all. He takes care of me."

"Are you the type of woman that needs looking after? We do have a policeman in this backwater village. Not that he's very good. But he is available. Shall I call him?"

Donna stretched out her right hand and touched Martin's arm. "Doc. No. I'm fine. Other than this." She pointed to her swollen hand, which seemed to grow in size as the two of them watched. "Damn it. This hurts."

"I can tell," observed Martin.

"The Doctor and I, we're sort of team. Not romantic. Nothing like that. We do get on." She sniffed. "Not that I haven't thought about it," she added softly. "You have anyone special? Must have, don't you?"

Martin looked away as he heard her words. He thought of the latest row with Louisa Glasson over a silly dustup about a tangled school schedule of student hearing and eye checking. She had told him it was to be the second Monday of the month.

He remembered that quite clearly; had written it down in his schedule. Then because of some _stupid_ school outing to the beach to observe school life with a visiting naturalist, she'd wanted it shifted to the third Monday. That had thrown him into an utter tirade about how suddenly _her_ schedule took precedence over _his_. How the _school_ was so much important than his own _medical_ practice.

He'd had to cancel patient visits left and right and then just when it was almost sorted, Louisa had breezed up to him in the Post Office and declared that due to a seven-day forecast of awful weather the original date would work.

Martin had felt steam literally come out of his ears at the schedule snafu. 'Is that the way it must be, Louisa?' he'd shouted. 'That _your_ bloody students have a higher priority than _my_ practice?'

She glared up at him, fire flashing from her lovely eyes as her silky brunette ponytail lashed violently like a snake. 'Martin! These are the Portwenn school children! And though they may be MY students, they are YOUR patients as well! You can treat me as terribly as you like,' here she stuck a finger in his face, 'but don't you EVER go running down my students! You will be AT THE SCHOOL on the second Monday or by God…' Words failed her then so she gave him a dirty look and whirled off like a dervish.

That recent memory was why he'd been on the headland, trying to regain - at least internally - some level of control over his own thoughts and emotions. Relationships – difficult at best.

"A big strong fellow like you, large hands and all, must have the ladies climbing all over you! I'd bet village dances are quite the party for you!" Donna said, interrupting his terrible reverie. "So… Doc you got someone?"

Martin opened his mouth, when the door burst open and the crazy Doctor Smith flew in bearing some odd apparatus of tubing, electronic beeping boxes, and a large Perspex cylinder.

"Here you go, Doc!" Smith shouted. "Had to rummage around quite a bit to find this." Her held out the device proudly. "Now if you have some isopropyl alcohol, I think we can proceed!" Smith looked from Martin to Donna and seeing the surprised look on their faces asked, "Have I interrupted a tête-à-tête?"

**Author's note:**

**tête-à-tête = French: literally head-to-head conversation; one of personal and private communication.**

**For those Dr. Who fans who are searching various DW databases, there is no planet named Parathesia nor Monos Alpha. They exist only in this author's mind. **


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 – Fact

"No," Martin said. "And what is that?"

"Life support," replied Smith. "Just a little thing I rigged up."

"Smith? What sort of a doctor are you? This excision doesn't require even oxygen, let alone life support! Fool."

Smith smiled at the village GP. "Not for Donna. For… it. The uhm…"

"Parasite?" Donna squirmed with revulsion. "That makes me all gooseflesh. Just get it out!"

Martin nodded. "Yes. But Smith, you asked for isopropyl alcohol. Why?"

He held out his sonic screwdriver. "This told me that _it _preferred that over water, or even human blood. That's likely why it's been affecting Donna so severely. Wrong biochemistry."

Martin chose to ignore that comment. "Well whatever it is, it's coming out, before she loses her hand. Listen, don't you think it would be better if you two toddled off to hospital at Wadebridge or Truro? That might be for the best. I'm… uhm," he paused as a wave of nausea overcame him. "I might not be able to… finish it… correctly."

"Course you will, won't you Martin? That's why I looked you up," Smith scratched his neck, then went on. "But I do find it hard to understand what brought you here, to this Cornish village. A successful surgeon like you – all the way out here from London? Why is that, Martin?"

Martin scowled. "I have my reasons," he said. "And why in Heaven's name do you keep calling me by my first name? Have we met? For if we haven't, I'd prefer you to call me Doctor Ellingham!"

Smith pursed his lips. "Well, it was a longish time ago, you know. You might not remember."

Now Martin sneered at the little man. "I have an _excellent_ memory! How dare you! You barge into my surgery, tell me fantastic tales and this hand," he jabbed at Donna's swollen extremity, "it must be some sort of special effect! Is this one of those idiotic TV reality shows?"

Smith stomped over to Ellingham, grabbed his rather thick arm with his small hand and pulled his ear down towards his mouth. "Now listen very carefully, Martin!" he whispered. "We _have_ met and it was some time ago. I need you to treat Donna Noble and quickly. That thing in her hand is growing and if you don't act sharp, they'll be nothing you or I can do to save her, let alone her hand. What do I need to say to convince you I am who I am and this is no joke?"

Martin brushed the man off, crossed his arms and looked belligerently at the smaller man. "So far everything that you have said and done has convinced me that you are a deranged lunatic and require extensive counseling, therapy, and drug treatment!"

Smith sighed and looked at Martin Ellingham. Yes, he thought, he does require just the right bit of convincing. He stepped backwards a step or two and crooking his finger bade the GP to follow him down the hall into the kitchen.

"Taking me on a tour of my own cottage, Smith?" bellowed Martin.

"No, but what I have to say to you should be in private, as what I am about to say, _is_ private, especially to you." Smith glared then his face softened. "I am breaking a number of personal and Time Lord Rules to tell you this, but I will, if that's what it takes to have you perform surgery on Donna. That woman is very sick, and she will get a _lot_ sicker, as _we_ stand _here_ whispering at each other."

Martin knew the man was mad and was about to suffer a total psychotic break, but he was so irritating so he bored in. "Go ahead then, _Doctor_ Smith," he said sarcastically, with any amount of professional demeanor totally gone.

Smith sighed. "All right. You asked for it. Facts." He stepped back a foot or so, lowered his eyes to the floor then glared up at Martin. "A long time ago…"

"_Yeah_, in a galaxy far, far away," added Martin, who rolled his eyes.

"Actually no, it was right here, on Earth; in London, about twenty five years ago. You were a last year medical student, top of your class. Hated, yet admired by each of the other students and your professors. All the registrars and consultants at the hospital were awed by your encyclopedic memory and, in spite of rather thick fingers and hands, that you were blessed with the golden touch in surgery. And just before you graduated…"

"Yeah. So what? Everything you've said you could have heard from anyone! Likely that tosser Adrian Pitts over in Wadebridge. What's that bastard been saying about me this time?" Martin balled his fists.

"No," said Smith forcefully. "Don't know him. But there you were, just days from graduating, the world at your feet and something almost happened to derail that glorious career yet to be born. Something that your oh-too cerebral brain could not have imagined." A pause. "You fell in love."

"What of it!" yelled Martin. "Big fat deal!"

"But there's more. The woman in question… was one Edith Montgomery. Oh she was cool and calculating, wasn't she, Martin? Those green eyes and orange hair; set your nerves on fire didn't they? That slim body too! And those little _games_ she got you into. The handcuffs, the surgical tape…"

"Stop! Stop it!" Martin lurched away, holding his hands to his head. "How dare you! That is private! You must have been in America, found her, and dug up this bit of dirt. I won't hear it! Shut it!" he nearly screamed. "I haven't thought of, not heard from, Edith in _years_! That's over, long gone!"

"Martin. There's more. I need to convince you, who I am, or was…" he started rifling through his pockets, apparently looking for something. "Have them here somewhere. Well, there was a closet three doors down the hall from the autopsy room, and she was in there. There was something about a promise of champagne…"

"I don't drink!"

"I know," answered Smith. "Not anymore. You were all set to go into that closet, where you knew Edith was waiting with the champagne, and she had made arrangements. _Special_ arrangements. And you were eager, weren't you? Oh so eager. All you had to do was to open that door… but something, or someone, stopped you."

Martin froze. "How do you know these things? He said he wouldn't talk! My God! Is this blackmail? That's it, right?"

"And who was that? Don't you remember, _who_ that was, _Mr_. Ellingham?"

Martin screwed up his face as he remembered the past. "He was tall, had a large nose, and wore a long striped scarf with a dark coat and a battered hat. He was a consulting researcher, or so he said. And he was always offering…"

Smith smiled and pulled his hand from his pocket holding out a paper packet in his open palm. "Would you like a jelly baby?" he said grinned from ear to ear.

The village GP froze. "You _can't_ know that! How can you know that?"

"This man, this doctor, offered you jelly babies and said 'Mr. Ellingham, I wouldn't…' "

" 'Go in there, if I were you. It would _ruin_ your career,' " finished Martin and now his eyes were wide in both horror and wonder.

"_Hello-o-o-o_."

"Yes," replied Martin. "He said _that_ as well! But how... can _you_ know these things?"

"And then just seconds later, as you grudgingly ate a red and a yellow jelly baby that I gave you as I pulled you some distance down the corridor, the school custodian arrived and opened that very closet door to the screams of…"

"Edith!" gasped Martin. "_Edith_ was found… and if _I'd_ been in there…"

Smith smiled. "You'd both have been sacked. Instead she was the one reprimanded for being in the storage closet, topless and slathered with scented oil." Smith held up his thumb and middle finger a millimeter apart. "If I hadn't interrupted your little _rendezvous_ by just a few seconds." He snapped his fingers. "Like that."

Martin ran a shaky hand over his brow and looked Smith up and down in amazement. "It _is_ you! But how? You were taller, older, the nose? How? It makes no sense!" he finished in a strangled sound.

Smith smiled a toothy smile. "I told you. People change. I've changed. Now… I need you to prepare for surgery and attend to Donna Noble. Now you _do_ believe me."

"Yes…. I do. God yes…" Martin gulped. "But there's no way, it could be _you_, I mean _him_!"

"The universe is large and vast Martin."

"There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," intoned Martin using the immortal words of Shakespeare's _Hamlet_.

Smith smiled his odd smile again. "Hamlet - Act, 1, Scene 5. Yes. I told Will that line would last through the ages. He didn't believe me. But I was right."

Martin was about to question Smith once more when a yell came from the consulting room.

"Doc! Help!"

"Time for surgery, old man," said Smith as he slapped Martin on the back.

"Oh, God!" said the GP of Portwenn as he rushed down the hall to his patient.

**Author's notes:**

**John Smith is describing the incarnation of the Fourth Doctor – played by Tom Baker – a tall, square, smiling man with a large nose. His costume was as described. And he loved jelly babies, always offering them to total strangers.**

**No such encounter is recorded in the Annals of the Time Lord known as the Doctor, or Dr. Who. So don't go looking. :)**

**Dr. Who regenerates from time to time, when he has been injured irreparably, and his shape, size, face, and personality change. So far the Doctor has always been male before and after these events.**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Excision

Smith raced down the corridor to surgery with Martin ducking under the stair above, grazing his head in the process. Bloody small rooms and lintels, he thought, just as he rammed his forehead into the consulting room door frame header. Martin stumbled into his surgery rubbing his head, after whacking it on the door for the hundredth time. He saw Smith, or whoever he really was, leaning over Donna Noble.

Donna was writhing, clutching her hand, and wailing in a sharp voice. "Will you two…AH… stop… OOOH… arguing? Christ!… Help me!"

"Where does it hurt? Martin asked. "On a scale of one to ten…"

She turned scared eyes to his. "It hurts a HELL OF A LOT DOC!" she yelled. "And you can stuff your numbers! Just HELP ME! NOW?"

Smith played the light of his sonic screwdriver once more over Donna and his face blanched as he looked at the output screen. "The uhm… thing is trying to move. I suspect the being in her hand was an accident! More likely it needs to be in the abdomen or thorax, that is, if it's normal host has an abdomen _or_ a thorax! It's looking for room to grow!"

Smith grabbed at Martin's arm and thrust him to the examination couch. "You have to operate _now_," he hissed into his ear, as Donna moaned a lot more. "No time to waste."

"Right," Martin answered and he went into overdrive. Gloves flew onto his fingers, he strapped the grossly swollen arm to an IV board, then doused the member with Betasept from a bottle and scrubbed away with a surgical swab. He looked down at Donna who squirmed as he scrubbed. "This might hurt."

She looked up through gritted teeth. "I don't… bloody… care," she managed to get out. Then she started panting. "Just make it fast! This thing feels like it's trying to burrow up my arm!"

Smith put his hands about her infested arm and squeezed. "Not if I can help it!" He bared his teeth. "You just go right ahead, Martin! But first, pop the top off the cylinder, that one," he nodded with his chin to the strange device of tubing and wires he had brought into surgery.

Martin did as instructed after puzzling out the strange clamp-on top. "Done. Now what?"

"Take a liter of isopropyl alcohol and pour it in." Smith tightened his grip. "And hurry, would you? This thing is gathering strength!"

Martin turned to the patient who lay quivering with pent-up tension on the couch. "Anesthetic?"

"No time! I don't care! Do it!" the woman screamed. "Before it gets worse!"

Martin blew air from his nose as he picked up the scalpel, fitted with a curved #10 blade. "I need to warn you…" he started to say.

"No time, Martin!" yelled Smith.

"Get on with it!" Donna screamed as the thing in her arm suffused her entire body in fire. She'd once stuck a finger in a light socket with the current on and touched a faucet by accident, and it felt like that. No a_ hundred times_ worse, she knew, and she felt control and consciousness slipping away. "Hurry… please?" She whimpered at the last.

Martin felt the familiar signs of a panic attack start, even before he made the incision. Sweat broke out on his brow, armpits and groin, palms of his hands and soles of his feet as saliva pooled in his mouth. He made the incision from the little finger to the ring finger in one stroke through the skin, seven centimeters long, two centimeters behind her knuckles. Blood and lymph began to flow, as some yellowish matter oozed from the wound. Then nausea hit him with full force, burning bile rushing up his gullet, and he somehow managed to gulp it back down as the room spun about his whirling head.

The edges of the wound gaped open now, like some obscene mouth, as he glimpsed something gray, slimy, and _moving_ inside. "What the Devil?" Martin asked aloud.

"I'd not touch that with your hand, doc!" shouted Smith.

Martin ignored the irritating man as he jammed a retractor into the wound, opened the instrument wide, and inserted his fingers into the opening as Donna screamed aloud.

Whatever it was wiggled and seemed to fight him, but he managed to sink his thumb and the tips of two fingers into the mass and pulled. It came out reluctantly; a pulsing and squirming mass of amorphous gray flesh, coated in a thick coating of yellow mucous, and it seemed to ooze out of his grip as he extracted it.

Mercifully, Donna passed out at the ultimate moment, lying boneless there like a puppet with the strings cut.

Smith released Donna's forearm and cradled the strange apparatus of tubing. "Here, doc! In here," he urged.

Martin shoehorned the _thing_ into the Perspex tube, followed by Smith pouring more alcohol in, then slammed the lid shut with a snap.

Smith pressed a few buttons on the control panel, machinery started whirring and liquid starting flowing over the entity inside.

"Well done, Martin!" shouted Smith as he clapped him on the back.

Martin turned a distressed face to Smith and said, "Excuse me," as he bent over the office bin and vomited heartily.

**Author's notes:**

**Betasept – An iodine based antiseptic used to scrub the skin and to clean it of external germs.**

**Perspex – A commercial name for a brand of Plexiglas, a transparent plastic.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – Patient

Martin stood up from where he had leaned over the bin and wiped his mouth on a swatch of gauze.

Smith gave him a puzzled look and scratched the back of his neck. "Are you ill?"

"No." Martin straightened his tie and jacket and tried to regain his composure.

"Certain? You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine," Martin lied.

"Nothing to do with…" he pointed to the clutter of surgical gear, "surgery, is it?"

"No," Martin said emphatically, his face screwed up in consternation.

"Right." Smith gave him a concerned look. "Not quite the Martin Ellingham I remember from before," he whispered to himself.

Martin ignored his comment, dropped the soiled gauze into the rubbish and gazed quizzically at Smith. "What are you going to do with…" he pointed at the humming apparatus, where liquid flowed over the _creature_ in the clear tube, "Whatever it is."

"That, yes… I suppose I'll have to take it back where it belongs."

Martin went back to his patient, changed his surgical gloves and prodded at the hole in her arm. Strangely the huge ballooning of the hand, wrist and forearm, had collapsed to near normal proportions. He took a flexible saline bottle and rinsed out the incision. A few nasty looking bits of gray tissue came out so he pried the incision open with retractors and finished the job. He didn't see any more debris from the object once hidden inside.

He then placed a small tube to drain the site and put simple sutures at incision in the back of her hand. As Martin was doing this, he saw Smith peering at the thing in the tube, tapping at it, where tendrils pulsed. "Just what is it? Do I need to call Public Health?"

"Nah!" Smith said. "I really doubt they'd have any idea. Probably wind up dissecting the unfortunate creature."

"Unfortunate? You said not long ago that the thing's a parasite!"

Smith smiled. "Nope," he said snapping his lips closed explosively. "Poor Donna just got in the way. Wrong biology. You saved its life, you know."

"Its life?" Martin exploded. "It nearly killed your friend! Saved its life… I suppose you dread using antiseptic too!"

Smith smiled his odd little smile. "Long after the human race is gone bacteria and viruses will still be thriving. They were here before Man and will be here long after. Even when the planet is destroyed by your sun going nova, there will be pockets of earth bacteria clinging to rocky fragments – but they always did have an escape plan."

"Man?"

"No. Bacteria. But they've always planned for the future; taken the long view." Smith sniggered at the look on Martin's face. "You think I'm mad, don't you?"

Martin sniffed. "I _know_ so."

"We can discuss my mental status some other time, don't you think?" Smith pointed to the prostrate woman on the table. "Hadn't you better tend to your patient? 

Martin went back to bandaging the hand and wrist and then put an elastic wrap about the limb to compress the forearm. He tided up the table, ditching the instruments in the dirty tray, while the waste went into the biological hazard bin.

Smith had gone back to fiddling with the strange device of pumps and tubing, making a strange sound though his teeth – sort of a whirring, whistle, with glottal stops thrown in.

Martin washed and thoroughly dried his hands then pulled a blanket up about Donna Noble, tucking it around her for warmth. He then shouted at Smith. "Must you do that? Make the odd noise? It's irritating!"

Smith grinned. "Just telling her she'll be fine."

Martin pointed to Donna, still passed out on his examination table. "The patient is _over here_."

"And the other one is here," Smith said and rubbed the clear tube. A tendril of the thing stopped squirming about and put itself quite carefully against the inside of the tube opposite Smith's hand. "There, there," he said, stroking the tube.

Martin came over and looked hard at Smith. "You have gone total and utterly Bodmin."

"You haven't believed a word I've said, have you?" Smith told Martin, then grabbed his hand and pressed it tightly against the tube.

Martin fought to get his hand back but as he touched the smooth cool outside of the Perspex container, he felt the strangest disorientation. Somehow, he was inside the tube _looking out_ – looking out at two gigantic deformed creatures, with extremely large heads, glaring eyes and dark holes in their faces filled with fierce looking teeth. "God!" he yelled, jerking his hand back and then rubbed his arms as gooseflesh jumped out all over his back and arms. "My God!"

Smith caressed the tube. "There, there. He didn't mean to scare you," he purred. He looked over at Martin. "Her name is, well… I don't think I can pronounce it. No human can."

"That thing has a name?"

"Of course. All creatures do you know. And her name is…" he tipped his head sadly, "unpronounceable, sadly by humans."

"Right," Martin sneered at the madman.

"Oh, before I forget, always a lot going on in my head, you see, she thanks you."

"She… erh, _it_, thanks me?"

"Says she didn't mean to cause any harm. When she realized she was in the wrong… being… she tried to reach the spinal cord so she could communicate directly with Donna, but…"

"Yeah, that was not possible." Martin sighed. None of this made any sense to him. Yet the humming machinery was apparently keeping the thing alive and it was no longer agitated and thrashing about inside the transparent tube.

Smith put his fingers on the tube, closed his eyes, and muttered something in a low voice. Then in a high squeaky voice he said, "Thank you for saving me. Now I will sleep. Goodbye Doctor Ellingham."

The way in which Smith spoke raised the hair on his neck. "Ok. Now you'll say that was it… _her_ speaking."

Smith's hand fell from the machine, as he yawned and blinked his eyes rapidly. "Not speaking actually, more of a mind to mind transfer." He rubbed his face and stumbled back. "Took a lot out of me."

Martin grabbed Smith and steered him to the visitor's chair, where Smith grabbed the arms and began deep breathing.

"Sorry, Doc! The neural equivalents weren't very exact. I had to approximate the words." He scratched his chin. "Most of what I got was mostly emotional feelings. Oh and she says you have very large hands, for a human. She quite likes them."

"Rubbish!"

"All the same," Smith went on. "She does think that you have quite a skill. Oh, yes…" he rubbed his neck nervously. "Don't know quite how to say this or quite what she meant, but…"

"Go on."

Smith smiled his all teeth smile and his eyes flashed happily. "She told me that you should… ahem… tell Louisa, whoever that is, how you feel about her. Said she could tell you're quite keen on her. Says not to waste any more time."

"What? Martin had turned to the patient, the human one, but that comment brought him up short. "That thing read my mind?"

Smith nodded his head up and down.

Any possible further discussion was interrupted by Donna Noble starting to stir and moan. "Doctor?" her voice came out slurred. 

Martin and Smith responded as one. "Yes?" and gave each other a confused look.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 – Time

Donna Noble stared up at the two doctors. "Is it… gone? Out of me?"

Martin gave Smith a quick look, who held out his hand to Donna. "Go ahead, Doctor Ellingham." Then he patted Donna's arm and waved his sonic-thingy over the woman.

Martin cleared his throat. "Ahem. The organism has been removed, and I have sutured and bandaged your arm. I'd prefer if you came to see me in a few days. I've put in a surgical drain. Lord knows what might be left in there."

Donna started to sit upright and Martin supported her. She flexed her arm in amazement. "It is gone! And it doesn't hurt, not a bit! Miracle pain killers, right?"

Martin glanced over at Smith. "I didn't give you any, nor anesthesia either."

"Oh," the woman said. "Well, I feel right as rain."

Smith peered at his sonic. "Must be a bit of post-delivery endorphins."

"Delivery?" Donna started to hyperventilate. "Sounds like you're saying I've just given birth!"

"You did," said Smith.

"You didn't," scoffed Martin.

The two doctors looked at one another for a few seconds while Donna turned wide-eyed from one to the other with her mouth hanging open.

"Not exactly," added Martin.

Smith bobbed his head and tapped his teeth with the sonic. "Well, no… not exactly."

Donna sighed and relaxed. "Well, I'm glad you two agree on something, at least. So I wasn't pregnant?"

Mercifully Smith kept his mouth shut as Martin spoke. "You were not, nor have you been."

"Feel ok?" Smith asked.

"Think so," Donna replied.

Martin pushed past Smith and put his sphygmomanometer on Donna's right arm. "Not quite as good as the left arm, but…." He pumped up the cuff, put his stethoscope to her elbow and listened intently.

"Well, doc…" said Donna.

"Shush!" said Martin.

Smith put his finger to his lips and smiled encouragingly.

"Just want to ask…" she went on.

"Shush!"

Martin stripped off the cuff and rolled it up. "Your blood pressure is nearly normal. Slightly elevated. No dizziness?"

"No." She winced as she moved her arm. "Bloody bandage is awfully tight, though."

"Yes, that's to keep…" Martin glanced at Smith. "Ahem… the tissues compressed… to promote healing of the…" He adjusted the sling he'd put around her neck.

"Oh, yes." Donna flexed her left hand and wiggled her fingers. "Looks like it works."

"When's the last time you had a checkup? Been eating well?"

She laughed. "You've cut up my arm and are now asking about my diet?"

"I'm a GP, that's what I do. Keeping people… healthy." Martin tucked the blood pressure cuff into his trolley and rolled to the side. "I'll have to clean up…" he pointed to the steel basin with the bloody instruments, luckily hidden beneath a towel.

"I'll take that Doc." Smith picked up the basin and the biological waste bin. "I'll just put these in the…"

"Car," interrupted Donna.

"Speaking of cars, I suggest that you get your brakes checked out," Martin said. "They make a horrible racket."

Smith nodded in agreement. "I can do that. They have quite a few miles on them."

"How many?" asked Martin innocently. "There is a garage in the village, believe it or not."

"Oh, several hundred, million, trillion…" Smith stopped. "Sorry, just more of me running off at the mouth." Smith bounded out the door. "Be right back!"

Donna laughed. "He's always doing that. Throwing out odd comments, I mean."

Martin groaned as he was living in a village of people with _odd moments_. "I do understand."

Martin then walked across the office to the device, where a pump beeped and isopropyl alcohol sloshed over the gray mass inside. He bent and peered at it then stood. "You're not from around here, are you?"

Donna laughed. "I'm from Chiswick. Near London."

"I know where Chiswick is!" Martin blew up. "What about you?" He glared at Smith who'd just rushed back in, his coattails flying.

Smith smiled. "You really won't believe me."

"Not likely. Someone from school set this up didn't they?"

Smith walked across the room and touched the stasis pod. "No."

"So tell me, _Doctor Smith_, where are you from?"

"Gallifrey."

"Don't know it," declared Martin. "Where is it?"

Smith smiled his toothy grin at the GP. "Does Donna need more of your expert medical attention?"

Martin walked to his desk pulled out a pad and picked up a pen. "Miss Noble, are you allergic to any antibiotics?"

She shook her head. "Don't think so."

"I'm writing you a prescription for a broad spectrum antibiotic." He scribbled on the paper. "I have a sample pack of erythromycin to get you started, as well as a mild pain killer. Ice your arm, keep it elevated. If you develop a fever, call me. My number's on the pad." He handed the scrip to the woman. "Are you able to stand?"

"Yes," she said as she slipped from the examination table. "There." She looked around the room. "Have you thought about painting this room? This green is just… ugh!"

Smith took Donna by the arm. "I'll walk Donna to the… car. Be back in a jiff."

Donna allowed herself to be moved towards the door, but stopped and looked at Martin. "Thank you."

"Erh, you're welcome," said the GP of Port Wenn.

Donna hugged him with her right arm and kissed his cheek. "There." She looked about the cottage. "Besides the paint… you may want to work on your bedside manner. You can be off-putting, you know."

Martin sneered but pressed his lips together.

Donna took a step, then stopped and looked up at the tall doctor. "You're all alone out here aren't you?"

The GP waved her comment away. "None of your concern."

"Well…" Donna looked at Smith for a moment and sighed. "Must get lonely. Thanks for the…" she hoisted her bandaged arm in the sling. Then Smith took her from the room.

Martin surveyed the wreckage of his Friday evening. The light was fading, it was nearly 6:30, and he'd not eaten, which would throw his digestive system off kilter. He gazed at the thing in the clear tube which flicked a tendril at him as he stared at it. He put out a finger and touched the glass.

Again that odd feeling of dislocation struck, but he was expecting it. He was looking at his sad and grumpy face distorted through a curved tube of Perspex.

A thought entered his head in a strange soundless voice. _"All alone aren't you? You can fix that."_

He took his hand back quickly but not quickly enough.

"_Louisa… Louisa…,"_ the voice lingered. _"Bet she's pretty, although I find humans ugly. Goodbye Doc!"_

He jumped as Smith bounced back into the consulting room.

"We'll be off," Doctor Smith said as he looked at the dazed GP. "You all right?"

Martin shook his head to clear the cobwebs. "Yes…" he said slowly. "I think…" His head snapped up. "Oh, you're back."

"Yes, Doctor Ellingham, but it is time for me and my companion to be going."

"Time?"

"Yes, Martin. I can't waste time. _No one can_." Smith stuck out his hand and Martin took it.

The grip was released reluctantly.

Smith picked up the beeping machine which still whirred and hissed. "Come my dear," he cooed. "Let's get you home."

Smith paused at the door. "You're doing fine, Doctor Ellingham. I foresee for you… well…" he paused. "_Time_ will tell, won't it?" he laughed, then he was gone.

Martin stood frozen for a few seconds and ran after Smith out the kitchen door towards the tiny garden shed. He saw Smith plunge inside the rickety building. "Wait!" he yelled.

Martin heard a creak of hinges and a door open and close. "What the devil?" He knew there was no back door to the tiny building. What in hell was Smith doing in his shed, he wondered?

He opened the door and saw a blue police box, one of the old fashioned ones, tucked into the shed. He'd not seen one like this in years. "What in God's name…?"

The police box started to glow, accompanied by that strange screeching sound as it started to fade from sight. Martin watched dumbstruck as he could see the back wall of his shed straight through the blue box as it faded completely away.

Dr. Martin Ellingham, GP, FRCS, felt his mouth drop open as his eyes roved around the dirty interior. "Rubbish. Rubbish!" he shouted. He fell back. "Oh, rubbish!"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 – Jelly Babies

Martin walked into the shed and ran his hands along the walls. He found, as he knew was the case, no hidden panels or trapdoors. Stamping on the rocky floor gave him further proof that it was solid. He walked outside and faced the shed, the sagging and splintered doors staring at him with the dirty windows starting like eyes.

"I know what I saw!" he exclaimed. "That's not possible! Ellingham? Have you gone Bodmin along with everyone else in this God-forsaken village?"

"What's that Martin?" a female voice asked and he turned to see Louisa Glasson standing in the road, staring at him with a quizzical look. "God-forsaken? I have heard other people call Port Wenn that, but never you!"

Martin walked towards her and peered down at her from the terrace, two feet above the road surface. She wore her hair in her usual ponytail and was wearing dark jeans, and a brown top of some sort with a cream sweater over her shoulders. He looked down and caught a glimpse of her midriff, and she quickly pulled the shirt down.

"I was…" he cleared his throat, "chasing a… bee. It went into the shed, then it… disappeared."

"A bee? Really? Bit early for bees isn't it?"

"Not really," he said. "It is May."

"Right. Well," she hesitated, "I was taking a walk and…"

Martin looked at Louisa and assumed she thought he was a fool. After the blowup over the scheduling he couldn't blame her. "You saw me acting the fool?"

"No, not really." She hugged herself. "Bit cool this evening, isn't it?"

"Yes, slightly."

Her arms dropped and twisted her handbag. "Well…" she squinted up at him. "I'll be off," she said with some sadness.

"I… erh, Louisa…"

She stopped in mid-stride. "Yes?"

"Erm… have you eaten, dinner, I mean?"

"Bit late for you, isn't it? Past 6:30. I know how you feel about eating late – your carbohydrate curfew – all that."

Martin straightened his coat. "Uhm. I had a patient to attend. So I… haven't had a chance to."

"Oh? Really. Well I haven't eaten either."

He answered nervously. "Well. Best if we ate then. Low blood sugar can result from eating too infrequently."

"Yes," she replied. "Good idea that. A patient you said? Anyone I know?"

"No. A visitor to the village."

"Tourist?"

He nodded. "Yes, a tourist… from Chiswick." He cleared his throat. "I could cook some dinner… for the two of us, I mean." His face fell. "There's fish and potatoes and sprouts. Wouldn't take long."

She looked around. "Sounds better than fish and chips as a take-away. Ok." She put out a hand and Martin took it to help her up the steep steps.

"There," she said, smoothing her hair at her brow. "The breeze mussed up my hair."

Martin looked at her shining head of brunette strands. "Still… it looks nice… But it is breezy."

A twinkle came to her eye. "Were you complimenting my hair? You've never done that before." She ended with a smile.

Martin was caught off guard. "I can tell that you're getting adequate nutrition, which if you did not, would cause your hair to be brittle with easily broken strands. Still taking the multi-vitamins?"

"Yes, I am." She looked down at her handbag which had taken on that twisting motion again.

"Is there something else?"

"Martin, well, I really wasn't just taking a walk."

"Go on."

"About the school schedule kerfuffle…"

Martin held up his hand. "I know, I know. I should not have flown off the handle."

"And neither should I."

They stood there looking at one another, not quite certain what to say next, then his mobile rang.

He hesitated before he moved to pull it from his suit coat. "I should…"

"Yes, take it."

He answered briskly. "Ellingham."

"Doc? Doc? It's Donna!"

Martin heard his recent patient yelling at him and somehow his phone was on speaker mode. He fiddled with the buttons but it did not good, just kept blasting her voice out loud. "Everything all right?"

"Fine! Fine! Say we're just back from the Infirmary."

"Infirmary? Which one? How did you get there? Is everything all right?" Martin shouted with rising concern.

Another voice came on the line. "Doctor Ellingham?" said the Doctor. "It's… Smith."

"Yes," said Martin. "Where did you go?"

"Something wrong?" asked Louisa.

"No," replied Martin curtly to the head teacher.

"Is that Louisa, Doc?" yelled Donna Noble.

"Yes. It is," he said factually.

"She's pretty. Very! Hi Louisa! I'm Donna."

Louisa spoke up. "Hi!" but then she whispered to Martin. "How can they see me? You got your video-mobile camera on, Martin?"

"No, I haven't," said the stressed out doctor. "Is everything right, of a medical nature?"

The Doctor answered cheerily. "Donna's hand is doing fine, Doc. We went to the Philo Infirmary on Radilax Beta. They've taken out the drain and told us everything's fine. Said you did a fine job – for a human."

Martin was stunned. "But you just left not minutes ago!"

"Minutes?" said John Smith. He stammered. "Well… been a few days in _our_ time frame - not _yours_. But Donna's fine and she wanted to call and let you know."

Martin pursed his lips. "_Time_. Yes…." He looked down at Louisa, her smiling face brilliant in the fading sunlight. "Anything else?"

The Doctor laughed. "No."

Martin looked at Louisa. He'd rather speak to Louisa than those two. "Then goodbye. But if there is anything of a medical nature…"

"We'll call! Bye Doc! Bye Louisa!" echoed Smith and Donna and the line went dead.

Martin looked at his mobile. The call had lasted for zero minutes and zero seconds and the number was unknown. "Hmm." He snapped the mobile closed and dropped it back into his pocket. Probably need a new one, he thought to himself. Obviously defective.

Louisa butted into his thinking. "They sounded nice. That was?"

"The patient. Donna and her friend Smith."

"Oh. Right." Louisa checked her watch. "That offer still good for dinner, Martin?"

"It is." He pointed to the side of the cottage. "Let's go into the kitchen as that door is open."

They took a few steps and Martin peered into the open garden shed, whipped his head about then closed the doors and latched them.

"Been working in the shed?" Louisa asked.

"Uhm, yes. Just a bit of clearing up." He took her elbow. "The cod I have is enough for two. Best get to it."

Louisa smiled at Martin. "Yes, I'd like that."

Martin glanced back at the shed and around the sides of the cottage, and finally up at the cloudless sky searching for something. He saw nothing that looked like a blue police box. Then he followed Louisa into the cottage and shut the door.

000

The Doctor snapped off the viewscreen, on which he and Donna had been watching Doc Martin and Louisa Glasson from the command console of the TARDIS.

Donna stretched her arms. "He is a strange man, your friend the Doc."

"Well, he's not a bad sort. Brilliant surgeon. Good thing he's in that village, though."

"Oh, really. Why's that?"

"He was, well, still is, a brilliant surgeon. Quite the shock to all concerned when he pulled up stakes from London and landed in Cornwall as a GP." Smith chuckled a bit. "I had to try very hard not to laugh when he vomited after operating on your arm. You had passed out by then."

"Was it that… yucky?" She shivered and rubbed her arms.

"No. Not really. It wasn't because of the creature. It was the blood, human blood." He smiled. "Shame really. One of the UK's finest surgeon's side lined by being afraid of the sight of blood."

"How'd you know that? Did he tell you that?"

"No. I've been here, that is in the village before. You see in about twelve years' time there will be a ship run aground on those rocks outside the harbor in ferocious storm. Doctor Ellingham will have himself airlifted aboard by the Coast Guard, and there he will treat, successfully, I might add, half the crew who had been burned by live steam in the wreck. Marvelous effort."

Donna stood by the console open mouthed. "You didn't tell him, did you?"

"No. No _spoilers_ from me." He swiped at his spikey hair and grinned. "And Louisa, she'll be there too."

Donna pursed her lips. "Are those two… well, you know. Will they get on? The man seemed very lonely, underneath it all."

The Doctor smiled at his companion. He would keep some secrets. He reached into his jacket pocket and rooted around slowly, then checked all the pockets in a hurry. "Damn!"

"Forget something?"

"No." The Doctor chuckled and reached for the controls on the console.

"Allons-y !" he shouted as he pushed the master lever, sending the TARDIS on a spinning trip through time and space.

Donna's tinkling laugh followed them down a swirling tunnel of the continua.

000

Louisa watched as Martin skinned and gutted the fish and prepared the meal. She had offered to help, but he declined.

"You are my guest," he told her imperiously.

So she sat at the kitchen table, drinking water from a tall glass. She'd have liked red wine, but she didn't want him to think she was a lush. Drumming her fingers on the wood she looked around the kitchen. She'd not been in here that many times, but the room was always spic and span. She liked that in a man – and this one did know how to clean. But there was one thing out of place and it was on the chair next to hers. She picked it up and held it in her hand.

She smiled, admiring Martin's backside as his trousers went tight across his bum, as he put the fish into the oven. Not bad, she thought.

"Twenty minutes," he said. "Need more water?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly, hoping that Martin had not caught her peering at his derriere. "But there is one thing."

He turned from the cooker where he was now stirring potatoes as they boiled. "Yes?"

Grinning from ear to ear she held up a paper packet. "I had _no_ idea, Martin that you indulged." She pushed thumb and finger inside and took out a red jelly baby, holding it out for his inspection.

"Oh, God," the GP muttered. "Smith must have left those."

Louisa popped the candy into her mouth before he could stop her. "Delicious. Quite fresh. Want one?"

Martin wondered how many - what did Smith, _the Doctor_,say? Hundreds of millions of trillions of miles, those had likely traveled.

His lips rose into a sneer, then he held out his hand. "I'll try one."

"Oh? Well then," she dug into the bag, pulled one out and walked to him. "Open up."

Martin looked down at the head teacher, her smooth and shiny brunette ponytail bouncing as she came forward. He looked at the woman, opened his mouth and she shoved the candy into his mouth.

Louisa held her hand for a moment on Martin's lips. "Ah…" she withdrew her fingers quickly.

Martin, with a startled look on his face, began to chew.

"You know," he started to say, "These are the worst of empty calories."

"Yeah," she responded testily. "So what?"

Martin swallowed the carbohydrates and coloring. It was yellow; he could tell from the flavor. He thought what Smith had told him. _Time – best not to waste time. And the other message said the same. _

He hurriedly damped out a rejoinder about candy, harmful sugars, and waistlines that was about to spring from his mouth.

_Time_. Maybe it _was_ time, he thought. Louisa Glasson stood there expectantly and so beautiful and he longed to know her better.

"Yes. You may be right," he said kindly.

Louisa smiled hugely as she popped another jelly baby into her mouth and laughed.

- Finis -

**Author's Notes:**

**Allons-y: This version of the Doctor frequently says this. Means in French – Let's go!**

**This story was suggested to my fevered brain while watching Louisa Glasson eat jelly babies in Season 4. Now, I said to myself, that's really interesting as the Doctor – the _other_ Doctor – eats jelly babies. That was it and the title was far too obvious. I just brought the Doctor to the present (Number 10 – played by David Tenant) and there you go.**

**Thank you for reading my tale of sci-fi / medical / comedic / dramatic doggerel.**

**For those who have commented or written reviews, I stand in your debt, as some of the questions that you asked definitely influenced this story for the better.**

**See you in Port Wenn or in the Stars! **

**Rob**


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